


Parting

by Checkerbox



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition - Jaws of Hakkon DLC, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27931495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Checkerbox/pseuds/Checkerbox
Summary: A certain someone has a little crush on Professor Kenrick.And Dorian has bad news.
Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus
Kudos: 12





	Parting

They stayed in the Frostback basin a bit longer than planned after the defeat of Hakkon, unearthing artifacts and investigating more into Inquisitor Ameridan’s final days past the sketchy outline that they had created. It wasn’t entirely necessary, but then they didn’t have the end of the world bearing down on them anymore. Dorian supposed that a little vacation wouldn’t kill them. 

Not that wading around in mud and frost warding off bogfishers was his idea of a vacation, but never the less.

Their first day they spent carving up their spoils from the actual fight with Hakkon, so there was some practicality there. Without the spirit’s immense power to sustain it, much like Ameridan the beast’s body had been subject to quite rapid deterioration, rotting away and turning to dust in mere minutes. The bones, however, were made of hardier stuff, and so a good few hours of the afternoon were spent arguing that no, the Iron Bull could _not_ fit the skull in his room at the tavern back in Skyhold, and no, they were not going to drag it all the way back “just to see”.

The next day was a little bit less reasonable. Cassandra had started talking to Scout Harding about what she would say in her report to Leliana once they’d returned, and Trevelyan had cut in that they weren’t finished in the area yet.

Thus began their series of ridiculous little side missions for both the expedition and the Avvar, many of which were so inconsequential that Dorian hadn’t even bothered to commit them to memory. He suspected that Trevelyan’s true purpose for extending this jaunt was not fostering good will with the locals, but rather that it had taken nothing short of a miracle for him to get the gang back together for “one last hurrah”, and he was reluctant to face another parting with the people—the _only_ people—he considered friends.

Especially with one of them conspicuously absent.

Thank the Maker for small mercies. Dorian wasn’t sure what he might have done if he’d had to listen to Solas prattling on about spirits whenever they were around the Avvar augurs.

It wasn’t hard to see the way the wind was blowing. Though many of them still remained on with the Inquisition in some capacity, each member of the circle was being pulled in their respective pursuits. Vivienne had already left for court, Cole would disappear for days at a time, Sera was talking about finding a new city now that Val Royeaux had lost its charm…and so on. Trevelyan was no fool, and though he might try to delay it, all of them had places to be. Nobles to turn upside down, cities to rebuild. And as for Dorian…

Dorian had a letter.

A whole two days were spent in the old Tevinter ruin, cleaning up corpses leftover from Hakkonites and trying to locate some obscure tablet on something boring that no one except their resident archaeologist could possibly have any interest in.

Trying to distract himself, Dorian had dug through old parchment scrolls that were curled with age trying to find anything of thaumaturgical interest. A few of them he tucked away in his pockets. In an abandoned little alcove deep in the basement, where once might have been a shrine, he located a crusted old tome on ritual blood magic. That, he gave to Vivienne, who glowered at him in that particular way only she knew how before giving him a curt, displeased, “thank you ever so much”. He wondered if she’d burn it or make a “gift” of it to a rival.

As the sun was going down on the second day and the whole endeavor was starting to look like (more) of a fruitless waste of time, Trevelyan had given out a cry of delighted triumph and pulled the tablet from where it had been misplaced amidst a pile of rubble in the structure’s cracked interior. He had smiled broadly at Kenrick, his sharp teeth on display, as he handed over the tablet. Kenrick barely glanced at his face before his eyes were drawn to their find, excitedly going off about ancient accounting calculations or something of that nature as he walked back to his little desk. Trevelyan never taking his gaze off him all the while.

The letter had been waiting for Dorian on top of his pack.

No notes from Leliana with it, though he was positive she’d read it. There was nothing written on the outside, no indication of where it had come from save for the seal. Dorian had picked it up in his hands, a nervous dread beginning to grow in his soul.

He shoved it under his bedroll just as Trevelyan crawled into the tent.

For a moment he feared that he would be subject to nettling questions about its contents, but it seemed that Trevelyan was more concerned with divesting him of his clothes and senses. Dorian was eager to comply, tired of both, and they wound up having sex on top of the damned thing.

The next day they borrowed a few Avvar warriors to assist with some of the more labor-intensive excavation down in the valley, Trevelyan practically dwarfed by the two men as he jumped into the fray with them. Thane Sun-hair watched from the sidelines, discussing architecture with Professor Kenrick and negotiating which artifacts the expedition was actually allowed to take back to the University of Orlais.

“Those?” he heard her say with a full-throated laugh as Kenrick displayed something they’d found in the bog earlier that day. “Sure. Take a dozen of them. Never understand you Lowlanders.”

Covered in a substance that seemed a little too putrid to be just mud, Trevelyan had suddenly appeared from nowhere and slung his arm around Kenrick’s shoulder in a gesture that would have had Dorian itching for a tailor to make him new robes entirely. There was an artifact in their Inquisitor’s hand, however, and so the poor man paid no mind to the state of his once polished, decorative pauldrons and instead focused all of his attention on the plight of… _someone_ in the… _something_ Age with their primitive little…Well, Dorian couldn’t be arsed to remember.

Dorian walked apart from the rest on the way back, arms folded, and thought again about the envelope with the wax seal of the Magisterium holding it shut. He was so lost in his grim musings that he didn’t notice Trevelyan had stopped hassling the professor until he was pressing eager kisses to his neck and shoulder. Dorian shooed him away, though not before making sure all the gunk from before had dried or been cleaned away and was not on his person.

After that, they spent the following afternoon hunting the _Nox Morta._

It turned out to be a bogfisher.

A _big_ one.

The whole thing had given Sera a good laugh, at least, and Thom got some fun out of recounting the tale to their soldiers. After a little bit of quibbling with Cole, Trevelyan carved up the great beast himself, jovially shoving some of its bloody flesh in Kenrick’s face and asking if he wanted any.

“Ah, er, no, thank you.”

“Are you sure?” Trevelyan asked, standing at the fringes of the man’s personal space, blood dripping from between his fingers as he pulled his arm back. “I never see you eat, Professor. Or sleep. That’s not very good for your health, you know. I wouldn’t want something…terrible to happen to you.”

Kenrick declined once more with a nervous chuckle, retreating to discuss the taxonomy of their discovery with his colleague.

Trevelyan cleaned and carved more of the bogfisher’s flesh before popping it into his mouth raw, staring at Kenrick as he chewed.

Dorian had opened the envelope that morning. The whole day had passed by like a dream, his thoughts consumed and yet entirely unable to process what he had read. He watched Varric furiously writing letters, using his notebook as a hard surface. He saw Cassandra pore over her tome on the Seekers of Truth, lost to the world. Thom was making lists of what he would need for the journey to Weisshaupt. And Bull, well…Bull was having a grand time. But he would eventually have to go where the money was.

They were running out of excuses, this bizarre band of theirs.

Running out of time.

“He’s cute, isn’t he?” Trevelyan said one night as he set out the bedrolls.

“Who?” Dorian responded idly, not paying attention in the least. He had taken the hideous message out of its envelope once more, brow creased as he reexamined the wording. Trying to poke around for hidden meaning there, a loophole, or maybe just something to depress him further.

“Kenrick. Don’t you think so?”

“Oh, sure. Yes.”

A gloved hand waved in front of his face. “No you don’t.”

Dorian looked up from his letter irritably. “What? –The professor? Why? Have I suddenly gained a romantic rival? Are you going to carry him off into the bog and make mad love in the muck? Thinking of trading in a Tevinter for a Starker, are we?”

Trevelyan practically vibrated with glee. “I want to scare him.”

“What?”

Like some large cat, Trevelyan laid himself down before Dorian’s knees, eyes bright and wide as he gestured broadly. “Yes, just pop out in front of him covered in blood and holding a knife. Do you think he’d scream? I bet he would. I bet he has the best scream.”

Feeling churlish, Dorian replied, folding up the letter and setting it down beside him, “I think most people scream when you suddenly jump in front of them shouting ‘boo’. It’s not exactly hard to achieve.”

“True, true. And it would only be funny for a minute or so. --He has this pencil he tends to suck on, have you noticed? What if I go find one of those awful, bitter fruits that Orlesians put on their toast and smear some of it on the pencil?”

For a moment, some trickle of humor drowned out the rushing in his ears from the letter that was now sitting overturned like it was some innocuous scrap of paper. “And what has this man done to deserve such ill treatment? Prattle on too long about ancient belt buckles?”

With all the dignity of a blushing teenage girl, Trevelyan put his hands over his cheeks, legs kicking up slightly as he spoke. “I can’t help it, he’s— _augh. Every Mother Finds Druffalo Among Sleeping Juniper Groves?_ Can you believe he said that? He is so _delightful_ I just want to squeeze him until he _explodes_. Haven’t you ever met someone who’s just so—so— ** _so_** that you want to mess with them?”

Dorian lightly trailed his fingers up Trevelyan’s scalp in the way he knew he liked, murmuring softly, “Oh yes. You, for starters.”

“Mm.” It was the right thing to say, Trevelyan’s eyes briefly fluttering closed at the touch. “What do you think he’d do if you made eyes at him, Dorian? Do you think he’d stammer?”

“Me?” Dorian pulled his hand away and set it on his hip, one brow lifting. “Why am I the one flirting with him?”

“Well, my flirting tends to sound like threats. –It _might_ still be fun but it wouldn’t be the same. He’d probably start avoiding me and it would be very awkward.”

“I am not flirting with the poor man for your amusement, Amatus. Speaking as another academic, I think you should leave him be,” Dorian said with a well-placed flick to his temple. “Besides which, I’m not entirely certain he’d pick up on it. Not unless I dressed it up in an ancient language and covered it in dirt.”

“He _does_ like things that are covered in dirt,” Trevelyan mused, narrowing his eyes and looking thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll bury his belongings somewhere and make him do a treasure hunt _he’s so adorable, Dorian_ , I love men who get excited over _boring things--_ ”

Dorian gripped his chin and pulled him into a kiss, because he loved men who got excited, period.

Loved one man who got excited, in particular.

For a moment afterwards they were both quiet, enjoying the silence and each other’s company.

Then Trevelyan’s eyes suddenly shifted to the letter. “…When do you have to leave?”

A twist of hurt moved into Dorian’s chest, and he pulled back entirely. “How--?”

“I didn’t read it,” Trevelyan interjected quickly, seeming to guess what Dorian was thinking. “But I recognize that seal, and you’ve been…I just guessed. I’ve guessed…correctly?”

“You guessed correctly.” Dorian went down to pick it up, smoothing out the folds and staring at its contents again. “I am being called back for some sort of appointment by the Magisterium, evidently. In recognition of all my work in the South. Probably some good faith gesture to insist that ‘no, really, we weren’t rooting for Corypheus to succeed’.” A pause, to swallow. “I’m to leave in a week.”

He waited. For what exactly, he wasn’t sure. Anger, accusations, screaming. Resentful blubbering, withdrawing, pulling away.

When Dorian had first broached the subject of his going back to Tevinter, they had been in the woods a ways from Skyhold. He had thought that perhaps Trevelyan would be in a better mood on the end of a hunting trip, and so had endured several days of _nature_ and a particularly persistent druffalo in the hope that it would make this difficult discussion easier. Naturally, he’d been incorrect. Trevelyan had run away, climbed up a tree, and shouted at him for several hours.

Later, after it had grown dark and Dorian had crawled into their tent for the night, Trevelyan had climbed down and slithered in beside him, cheeks wet and mouth filled with broken apologies. They had held each other, and in between steady assurances that it was fine and he gave Dorian his blessing, Trevelyan brokenly begged him not to leave. Dorian wisely chose to listen to the latter, and now here they were.

Trevelyan didn’t do any of that now. Now, he simply grew quiet, and still. He sat up, turned his face down to the corner of the tent and picked at his boot laces. “Okay.”

And somehow that was worse. “It’s just for a month, Amatus.”

“Okay.”

Dorian reached for him, putting a hand on his cheek and turning his face back. “Look at me.”

But instead of obeying, he fell forward, pushing them both into a clumsy embrace that very nearly knocked them over. “I love you,” he whispered, so softly that Dorian felt himself choke. “And I will still love you when we are miles apart. I will love you when you come back, and I will love you even if you don’t come back. But it might be harder to hold my heart together in that case.”

“Why would you think I wouldn’t come back?”

“I don’t want you—” His voice cut off, burying his face into Dorian’s shoulder as he breathed. “I don’t want you wasting your life and your dreams because of me.”

“It’s only a month.”

He shook his head, and said nothing.

“…Are you thinking about Telana?” Dorian asked incredulously. There was no response, but the tightening of Trevelyan’s shoulders was all the answer he needed. Dorian gave his waist a squeeze. “Let me tell you, Amatus. Maker rest that poor woman’s soul, but I am _far_ too fantastic and talented to waste away dreaming of you. If you are ever in danger, I am dragging you out even if _both_ my legs are broken. It will be very dramatic, and they will probably write songs about it.”

Trevelyan laughed, a few tears tumbling down his cheek, lip trembling. How utterly inexplicable, that this man whose pleasant dreams revolved around dismembering was capable of such innocent pain. It wormed its way through all the callouses around Dorian’s heart, made him feel a helpless guilt in his stomach.

“It’s only going to be a month,” he repeated, wondering if he would be able to say those words and believe it if he uttered them enough. He took Trevelyan’s face in both hands now. “Look at me, I said.”

When their gazes met, those sharp green eyes were soft and blurry with more tears. Dorian kissed him, over and over, until Trevelyan gave up on slurring apologies for his crying and simply sank into his arms once more.

The following morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed, Trevelyan finally announced to everyone that it was time to pack up.

Their vacation in the basin was over.

It was only after Dorian had boarded the ship set for the Imperium a week later and Trevelyan had made his way back to Skyhold that he was informed about the upcoming Exalted Council in Halamshiral.

**Author's Note:**

> Just another little thing written between chapters of my long fic.


End file.
